


May The Dread Wolf Take You

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Elvhen Ascension [9]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Lore, Dreams, Gods, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Prophetic Dreams, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 09:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20739893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “He was both,” Lavellan said. “Neither. That’s his purpose.”“You’ve met the Dread Wolf personally?” Solas asked, arching an eyebrow.Lavellan laughed. “No! It was just a dream I had, when I was a child."





	May The Dread Wolf Take You

It was warm out in the Emerald Graves, but the Iron Bull didn’t think he’d ever seen Lavellan look so at ease. He was dressed in light Dalish armours, his feet in neat leather wraps, and for once, the hair was down and out of its bun, instead loose at the back of his neck with two braids holding it in place. He didn’t get to see all of the hair on display, outside of the bedroom, usually, and having it half-loose like this accentuated the vallaslin on his face.

It was nice.

The Vint muttered something under his breath in Tevene when he saw the Inquisitor come down to meet them, unbuckling the satchel from his belt as he came.

“I’ve been collecting shards,” he said. It wasn’t yet dawn, and Dorian and Solas had just come from Skyhold, trading places with Vivienne and Cassandra, who were keenly needed back up the mountain. They weren’t yet done in the Emerald Graves, though, still two more rifts to close up North, and more than that…

“You look well, lethallin,” Solas said, smiling. “This armour is new.”

“We met a Dalish merchant moving west,” Lavellan said. “Thought it would be nice to dress like a proper person for once. Vivienne has left in a huff, in retort.”

“I don’t know that she can leave _without_ the huff,” Iron Bull murmured, and Lavellan smiled.

“You look good,” Dorian said. Bull didn’t miss the light catch in his tone, and he watched the Vint curiously, looking for a sign of something eager, maybe his usual flirtation, but for once it didn’t come. “I’ve never seen…” he trailed off.

“Get ready,” Lavellan said.

“Aren’t _you_ full of energy?” Dorian asked, and there it was, back on his usual balance.

“Vim and vigour are my watchwords,” Lavellan replied, and turned to set the shards away.

“He was right, you know,” Bull murmured, coming up behind the elf as he set them in cotton packing, so that they could transport them a little easier when they were brought west to the Exalted Plains. “You _are_ very energetic.”

“I’ve missed the forest,” Lavellan said, leaning back against Iron Bull’s chest, and Iron Bull slid his hands over his hips, bringing them up to press on his chest, feeling for his nipples under the light leather of the armour, and Lavellan sighed. “I know I won’t be able to dress like this when we go back to Skyhold.”

“I’d love to tell you you could,” Bull murmured, resting his chin on the elf’s head. “But I’d rather you walked around naked.”

“Yes, well,” Lavellan said, reaching back and cupping Iron Bull through his pants, making him hiss. “For two very different reasons, Bull, I won’t be doing either.”

“We’re ready!” came a call from Dorian. “_Please_ don’t be having sex!”

“What if we’re quick?” Lavellan called back.

“How quick?” Dorian replied, and Bull slapped Lavellan’s ass. The sound rang out, and Lavellan let out a sharp little noise, but obediently moved out from the tent, and didn’t even reach back to rub the new sore spot, no matter how much it must hurt. “Oh, that quick!”

“No more play,” Solas said. “We have work to pursue.”

“_Exactly_,” Lavellan said.

He moved fast, in the Dalish clothes. It was easy to remember he’d been a hunter and a scout, even before the Conclave: he went up trees and stone outcrops like they were nothing, like it was just as easy as walking on the ground, and it was _hot_. That kind of speed and grace, it was pretty damned _sexy_.

“Scouts say there’s a rift up here,” Lavellan said, and pointed up the waterfall. It wasn’t a gigantic cliff, but it’d be a bit of a trek going around and up the overgrown, muddied path toward the summit, and yet Iron Bull could see the green glint reflected on the sky… “There’s a cave that leads through, from behind the waterfall. We needn’t even get wet, apparently.”

“And this cave, I presume, is full to the brim with arachnids of all sizes?” Dorian asked.

“It’s elven-built,” Solas murmured as they came toward the entrance, and his fingers glowed with light as he touched a stone face on the entrance to the path Lavellan had indicated, that seemed to lead up behind the waterfall. The rune on it glowered green. “A few hundred years old.”

He lit his hand up with fire, and they began to climb up the hill with him lighting the way. Bull brought up the rear, keeping Dorian and Lavellan between him and Solas. There were spiders, but not too many…

Iron Bull didn’t think he’d ever get used to all these ruins. All these things, abandoned, but still fit for purpose: here in this cave, they came across a place that had plainly been a camp once upon a time, with a stone fireplace that vented the smoke out through a few tunnels carved in the ceiling, with shelves carved right into the walls…

“They took all the statues,” Dorian murmured, looking to the few pedestals that were scattered about the room, empty.

“All but one,” Lavellan replied, smiling, and stepped toward the fireplace. In the very centre was a statue of a wolf, and Lavellan reached up, palms angled to cup its stone cheeks. He laughed, softly to himself. “This wasn’t here, originally.”

“How can you tell?” Dorian asked, falling to stand beside Lavellan’s shoulder.

“This is a statue of Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf,” Lavellan murmured. Still, he was smiling, still – it was fond. “He’s dangerous. We don’t worship him like we do any of the gods – he’s a mischievous spirit, more than mischievous, the Great Betrayer. His statue is never placed _facing_ an encampment – he’s always stationed at the entrance, or facing out, to keep a watchful eye. A constant reminder to be wary.”

“You want to keep it?” Iron Bull asked. “You seem to like it an awful lot. Won’t be too heavy.”

Lavellan looked back at him, and smiled a little bit more widely. “No,” he said. “But thank you.”

“Could put it on your balcony,” Bull suggested. “Facing out.”

“Let’s move on,” Solas said. “Thoughts of exterior decorating should be put on hold, for now.”

\--

It was a few weeks later, when they were back in Skyhold, that Iron Bull noted it again. They were in the tavern, and at the table, Blackwall, Varric, and Solas were playing a game of Diamondback with Krem. It was late in the night, and the tavern was pretty much empty except for them…

Lavellan was sitting beside the fire, a piece of wood in his lap, and he was carving, whittling. It was clumsy work, compared to Blackwall’s artistry, but when Blackwall had given him a few pointers, Lavellan had taken it patiently and attentively, like he took tutelage in anything. He liked to learn – that was something he and Bull had in common.

He’d have made a good Ben-Hassrath, if he was viddathari.

But then… He wouldn’t be _him_, Iron Bull supposed, if he was Ben-Hassrath – he wouldn’t be Dalish anymore, wouldn’t have his rebellion, his Dalish cleverness, his attitude…

“He walks on stealthy paws, wide and black and silent, and he comes right beside, oh yes, oh yes! Eyes gleaming, glittering, teeth a white glare, and he knows him, he knows him, Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf!” Cole was sitting beside Lavellan, his legs crossed beneath him, leaning forward and peering out from beneath his wide-brimmed hat, speaking softly. “But is he dangerous? No, no, he’s a friend, a friend! Not a friend forever, but a friend for today, tomorrow, until the end comes…”

Iron Bull glanced to the table. Solas was silent, his gaze focused on Cole, and Varric was looking up too, his expression curious.

“Is this your roundabout way of asking me a question?” Lavellan asked casually, his knife sliding smooth over the chunk of wood in his hand: the shavings he tossed into the fire.

“The wolf whispers and stalks the path ahead of him, clearing the way, but is he friend or foe?”

“He was both,” Lavellan said. “Neither. That’s his purpose.”

“You’ve met the Dread Wolf personally?” Solas asked, arching an eyebrow.

Lavellan laughed. “No! It was just a dream I had, when I was a child. Every now and then, I’d dream about him… It was the same every time, we’d be walking together through the woods. He’d protect me, but I’d protect him, too – from monsters, demons…”

“You trusted the Dread Wolf?” Solas asked.

“Yes and no,” Lavellan murmured. “I suppose it was those dreams that taught me you could trust without trusting all the way. Sometimes I’d wake up with his teeth on my throat… Other times, he’d lead me somewhere safe, show me something _wonderful. _I dreamt, once, of this palace made of crystal, and when I stepped inside it, it shined…”

He met Solas’ gaze. The elf was staring at him, apparently fascinated, and Lavellan’s lips parted: for a moment, he looked ashamed. “Sorry,” he said. Why ashamed, Iron Bull wondered? Did he really mean it, about the Dread Wolf being evil? “I know it’s… I was only a child, it was just childhood games, and dreams. It stopped by the time I was eleven or so.”

“You never told your Keeper?”

“My Keeper would have gone ballistic,” Lavellan said. “She’d have thought I was being led on by a demon.”

“You might have been,” Solas murmured, his voice serious. “Recurring dreams of that nature would make any Keeper worry.”

“No,” Cole said. “The memories are fresh and clean, sweet like summer tea – just dreams, just games.”

“You ever surprise me, lethallin,” Solas murmured. “Why don’t we deal you in?”

“You know what I just said about how trust only goes so far?” Lavellan asked, his lips quirked up at their edges. “I know better than to face you at Diamondback.”

“Wish I had his wisdom,” Krem muttered, and Iron Bull chuckled.

\--

“Can I see the carving?” Iron Bull asked, and reached over where he was sprawled over Bull’s chest, pulling up the carving from the bedside table. It was almost done, and Iron Bull marvelled at the detail of it – it was a little clumsy, sure, but Lavellan had marked in the texture of the fur, the ears, even the paws had distinct toes. “He hasn’t got eyes. And his ears aren’t finished either, there’s no middle bit.”

“No eyes, no ears,” Lavellan murmured. “No nostrils, either. Not until tomorrow morning, where I put him facing _outward_, on the balcony.”

“You superstitious, huh?” Iron Bull asked.

“Just cautious,” Lavellan murmured, and set the carving aside so that he could pull Bull to kiss him.

\--

“You want to know a secret?” Lavellan asked, sleepily, as he reclined on the pillows, fucked out, limbs sprawled wide, eyes half-closed, as Bull massaged his thighs, digging in for the knots of muscle he could find and soothing them away.

“Always, kadan,” Bull murmured.

“I still dream about him, sometimes,” Lavellan said. He sounded like he was dreaming already, drifting into sleep. “Still feels like he’s leading me somewhere.”

“Where to?” Bull asked.

“Out of the woods,” Lavellan said. “Or further in. You can never tell, with Fen’Harel.”

“How can you trust somebody while not trusting them?” Iron Bull asked.

Lavellan’s eyes opened, and he met Bull’s gaze. “Well, I suppose that’s the thing, Bull,” he murmured, tone rueful, expression serious. “You can’t.”

“Glad you realize that,” Bull murmured, and pulled Lavellan up to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr,](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) to talk about DA in general, and definitely to recommend blogs to follow! I am open for requests (for Origins, II, and Inq).


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